A New Normal

A New Normal

They giggle and apply make-up in a smudged mirror in the filthy restroom. At 13, they are a tad too young for their low-cut shirts and glossy lipstick but just old enough to attend the concert unchaperoned. It’s one of the many manipulative ways the girls convince their overindulging parents into buying them the latest cellphones. The parents believe that providing these devises will keep their kids safe.

During the concert, their devoted parents congregate in the parking lot with boxed wine and beers. Their daughters have attended six previous shows, thus far, when the infamous singer-songwriter has graced their small town. It’s become almost ceremonial for the kids and their parents alike.

The girls exit the restroom hand in hand and make their way toward the stage through hordes of screaming fans. Every time they see a friend they shriek with glee, even though they'd all been in school together just hours earlier. They take dozens of selfies and send a few to their “P’s” hanging in the parking lot. The excitement is palpable.

Suddenly the lights go dark, and the stage comes alive with their idol. She struts back and forth, strumming a guitar while gyrating and singing into a blinged-out microphone. The teens wave their arms back and forth, mesmerized by the performance, never taking their eyes off the singer. Ever since the pop-diva’s first single was released, the girls have memorized every word to every song.

Music thumping and singing girls can be heard as far as a block away. It is a comfort to the patiently waiting parents. They are having fun as well, so they do not notice a van pull in and park on the far side of the lot.

Inside the venue, the noise is deafening. Everyone is jauntily dancing and shouting along with the band. They are all oblivious to the doors opening at the rear of the concert hall. Then, a man walks in with a gun...

*

It's a hot and sticky Sunday morning, but every week they sit very still for fear of admonishment from God himself. Women congregants are devout in their best church attire, heads bowed in prayer as they follow along in their bibles, worrying rosary beads throughout the mass.

The men face forward, contemplating an afternoon of sports viewing, but for the time being they sit stiff as boards in their starched shirts soaked with perspiration. They try their level best not to close their eyes, even for a few seconds to avoid a discreet elbow to the ribs by their wife. Children fidget in the pews and there is the occasional baby’s cry quickly squelched by a pacifier, or the breast in a tiny bathroom stall.

Commandments and guilt are sprinkled about like holy water. There is a lengthy sermon in Latin few understand, but they nod along, nonetheless. Collection plates are passed around and behaved children anticipate the simple task of putting the money in the basket when it reaches their row. No one really knows or cares where that money goes. They blindly believe it will buy them a place in Heaven.

When it is time for songs of praise at the conclusion of the service, they all stand, almost too exuberantly. Their voices resound so loud to be heard over the pipe-organ. These hymns they’ve known ever since they could speak, pour from them, rote yet somewhat satisfying - a sort of weekly pressure-valve release. They don't hear the heavy wooden doors at the back of the church creak open. Then, a man walks in with a gun...

*

With the sparkle of strobe-lights still in their eyes, they arrive like clockwork at the Dragon Diner. It's one in the morning when the dance club on the strip closes and they flounce in, dressed to the nines, and occupy booths and counter stools.

Sure, they shed boa feathers here and there, and glitter is everywhere like a fairy convention, but the waitress doesn't mind. They sport impeccable makeup she couldn’t even dream of pulling off. But somehow, they are her people, albeit for only a few late hours every Friday night. She may be middle-aged and totally happily married with kids, but these emboldened souls are the best part of her weekly work grind.

This night, at least a dozen patrons from the club takeover the diner and even assist with cooking and cleaning. They dance to Cyndi Lauper’s, Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, blasting from the juke box and share enough local gossip for a podcast. They even pull the waitress in for a spin and dip. She is forever enamored with their ability to simply be themselves.

By 3am, it’s nearly time to close up. Some are even starting to sport five o’clock shadows. The waitress fondly thinks of her husband sound asleep at home and caring for their kids while she works the late shift.

They end the night chanting along to Queen’s, We Are The Champions. It is why no one hears the ring of the bell over the entrance door. Nor do they notice when a man walks in with a gun...

*

At just 17, she is raped. When she discovers she’s pregnant, she knows she is totally alone to handle her dilemma. She is well aware she only has one option or she will lose everything- her college scholarship, her parents, her world.

There is no place to go but an underfunded clinic that’s on the verge of shutting its doors every other week due to menacing picketers. She surreptitiously glances at the many faces in the waiting room. Everyone there has a story, many joyous, some horrific. She knows this to be true by the looks on their faces.

When it’s her turn, she is crying, but the medical professionals do not judge her; they understand her predicament. They are very kind, but the process is way more invasive than she’d imagined. However, women since the beginning of time have had to succumb to these humiliations in all its many forms. She realizes this is the beginning of womanhood.

Following the procedure, the nurse tells her to sit in the waiting area for 30 minutes before she can leave due to the sedative. The teen doesn’t smile because she is cramping but deep down she is very relieved.

She removes a pamphlet from her recovery packet, and her eyes fixate on a picture of a mother and baby – black and white and beautiful. The newborn’s tiny hand is grasping mom’s ring finger. She prays that will be her someday. She is hopeful for a fresh start. Still a bit woozy, she continues leafing through the reading material when behind her, the clinic doors open. And a man walks in with a gun...

*

Date night at the movie theater seems to be the cliched advice given by all the local marriage counselors lately. Yet, no one ever sees their therapists in the real world outside their office visits. Doesn’t matter though because somehow over time, the tradition catches on. Once every two weeks, the local cinema is the place for couples to reconnect- to have fun. If you don’t show, it suggests trouble on the home front.

Sometimes the women choose the movie and sometimes the men. Occasionally, they split up for different movie premiers - romantic comedy versus action adventure is a no-brainer on this particular evening.

The men stand in the concession line bemoaning the ridiculous prices of the “crap” they are about to buy. The ladies stand by the doors to their romcom, chatting and sharing photos of their teen kids - so grown up and super proud and so on. They laugh and cajole, waiting for their husbands to deliver the goods so they can get great seats as if it's a Disney ride.

One of the wives instantaneously notices something very wrong in the lobby, but she is way too late to react, to scream to her oblivious husband facing in the opposite direction. A man has walked in with a gun...

*

Routine announcements are followed by the Pledge of Allegiance. The kindergartners head to a much-anticipated assembly. Their seasoned teacher demonstrates very early-on, how to be quiet in the halls while waiting, by using sign language. The children catch-on quick; their brains are like sponges at this age.

They are celebrating the December holidays, and the children wear their most festive clothes. The hallway to the auditorium is a sea of light-up sneakers, knitted sweaters and Santa hats. The children’s excitement is contagious.

The main office is calling the older grades to the assembly when there are popping sounds heard over the intercom followed by muffled screaming. Then silence, aside from boot heels slow and methodical - heading in their direction.

The wide-eyed children are told to sit down against the wall and only use their special hand-language. No matter what. They listen the very best they can, but they are babies and they are scared. They must be because their teacher is beyond terrified.

When their little cherubic faces look up for reassurance, there is nothing else for the teacher to do but hug them close and sign reassurances of love. She will use her adult body as a human shield. This is her only case scenario in the very worst-case scenario at this idyllic country school. A man has entered with a gun...

*

The court room buzzes, it is standing room only. So many grief-stricken families await a verdict. The judge allows the defendant to make a final statement to the gallery, even though his lawyer has advised against it. The defendant doesn’t care.

It may ultimately be his very last chance at salvation: life in prison versus the death penalty. He prays to a God he doesn’t believe in. How can he after the horrific life he's lived? He is young and handsome and appears totally remorseful and bewildered.

Or is he calculating, knowing exactly what he is doing? Only the judge can determine his ultimate fate. The defendant stands, turns to the gallery, wipes away a tear that doesn't exist, then looks back at the judge.

“I am truly sorry for what I have done. I know I have caused tremendous pain to so many. But I don’t know how to fix this. I can’t undo it." He lowers his gaze. "I can only go forward and accept the consequences of my actions. Please forgive me. I beg for the court's mercy, your Honor.” He sounds sincere. He even covers his face as if in shame, then slowly sits back down. Shackled or not, he is a pathetic sight. He needs to be because his life depends on it.

After a brief recess, the judge returns with a verdict -life in prison without parole. The gallery erupts with jeering and cries of injustice. The defendant tries to hide his smile. Reporters frantically take notes. The courtroom is so boisterous that the gavel sounds as if it’s made of rubber. There is complete pandemonium. So, it makes sense that no one is paying any attention when the rear doors to the courtroom are shoved open and a mother walks in with a gun.